Bonds of Affection

It was almost dinner time by then, and Snape headed out into the kitchen. Harry followed him closely.



Snape produced the meal ingredients he had purchased earlier in the day and unpacked them. He was about to cast a spell to combine them into a satisfying dinner, but to his surprise, Harry shook his head, moved him out of the way, and proceeded to prepare the meal the tedious, Muggle way – cutting up vegetables, brining water to a boil and putting handfuls of linguine into the pot.



"How did you learn to .." Snape started asking. Harry tensed instantly at the question, but did not stop.



"I cooked for my family," he said very quietly. "For years. Don\'t worry, I won\'t\' wreck your kitchen.”



He watched with quiet fascination, as Harry moved confidently, combining the ingredients, following a script he had obviously committed to memory. He looked oddly thin and fragile, and Snape found himself unable to tear his gaze away from his form. His shoulderblades were sticking out through his shirt, and he looked incredibly vulnerable, as he continued to work, focused and undeterred. Soon the aroma of vegetables and unripened cheese spread through the kitchen, and Snape inhaled deeply. It smelled good, Snape had to admit grudgingly, if only to himself.



“You don\'t have to do this, you know,” Snape said unhappily. “I don\'t expect you to be...”



“Subservient?” Harry offered helpfully, with just a touch of sarcasm in his voice.



Snape grunted something unintelligible.



“It\'s just a bloody meal. Don\'t read too much into it.” Harry said with amusement. “I am surprised you even have all the Muggle stuff... the proper kitchen. Some wizards don\'t even bother...”



“My mother put it all in,” Snape said absently. “My father rather enjoyed cooking.”



Mentioning his parents brought a flood of unwelcome nostalgia. He never had anyone cook for him since his parents died. His life had been devoid of relationships that had any normalcy to them. Back in school, he was a loner – taunted by James Potter and his little gang. Then, later, he was Voldemort\'s loyal henchman. The relationships that ensued since then were about control, and power... not doing ordinary, human things together.



Eventually, upon joining Dumbledore\'s cause, he had cast everything away. He had no friends. No servants. He got rid of the house-elves, who all wailed pitifully when he gave them clothing. Absolute loneliness was a good way to be – it was safe. Solitude had been his sanctuary for the last fourteen years.... And now, he thought resentfully, his sanctuary was invaded by an obnoxious willful brat, who had pushed him out of the way, in his own kitchen... Snape\'s gut shuddered in protest at the realization, but he couldn\'t find it in himself to throw the boy out. He just watched him, as if in trance.



“Your father liked cooking nonmagically?” Harry asked.



Another intrusive question, but Snape answered it, nonetheless. “That\'s the only way he could cook.”



Harry\'s hand froze in mid-air. “Your father was a Muggle?”



“Yes,” Snape said. He didn\'t see the point of evading the questions – producing genealogy records was a simple enough matter, and had he attempted to dodge the inquiry, it would only provoke curiosity... and snooping.



“Oh. That would explain why the place is called Prince Manor,” Harry muttered. “That was your mother\'s family name?”



“Brilliant deduction, as always,” Snape drawled contemptuously. “Well – aren\'t you going to taunt me on the account of my sullied ancestry? Something along the lines of me being unworthy of heading the House of Slytherin?”



“Maybe later, when I decide I want to get caned again,” Harry snickered. “What were your parents names?”



“Tobias. Eileen.” Snape said absently, and almost swore under his breath. He had no idea why he was answering those questions, and allowing his privacy to be invaded. He also had no idea why he didn\'t even mind all that much – not really.



Because it felt good, the sudden realization assaulted. It felt good to be known... to have someone want to know you.



Snape grit his teeth and shook his head disdainfully. Being known was not an option – not in this case. It could never be, given who he was... what he was.



As if in response to those thoughts, he felt a familiar burning on his arm. His Dark Mark had come alive – he was being summoned. .



Harry, it appeared, sensed something as well, because his entire body froze motionless.



Snape stood up abruptly.



"I need to go now," Snape told him. "Stay in your bedroom for the rest of the night. Don\'t come out when you hear me return. This is rather serious, and I expect you to comply."



Harry spun around and glared at him. "Why?"



"No time for details," Snape said sternly. "There will be a period of readjustment ... upon my return. You must not attempt to assist. You will not breathe a word to any living soul. You will give me plenty of space and stay away from me."



Harry opened his mouth to ask more questions - but the summoning had become more urgent. Snape turned around and fled the kitchen, heading out of the Manor.



As soon as he left the Manor, he Apparated a location of Voldemort\'s choosing, indicated to by the Mark. The image of Harry\'s shocked face still lingered before his eyes, but he grunted disdainfully and willed the vision away.



x x x



He was the only one summoned this time. A dark, dreary location, as always - a crypt, with barely any light. Snape gazed around, seeing no-one, and nothing. That was not surprising. A serpentine hiss entered his mind, and sent a familiar, deadly chill through his bones.



"My servant," Voldemort\'s voice intoned severely. "I welcome you. Since I gave you the potion, I have been waiting... waiting for the surveillance spell to show me the image of you, forcing the potion down the boy\'s throat, in your dungeons... I must say, you have exceeded my expectations.”



"I am glad, my Lord," Snape said evenly. He found the slippery presence coiling itself around his mind, slithering within, seeking out undisclosed secrets.



"Has it began then?" Voldemort inquired. "Have you caused him pain? Have you forced his tears?"



"Yes. And yes." Snape said unemotionally.



"From your stoic response, I take it you enjoyed it beyond what words could express," Voldemort mused. "Yes?"



"Yes," Snape uttered, transfixed by the realization. He had enjoyed it. He reveled in the power, wallowed in it. The power to hurt , and reject afterwards... the power to deliver agony, and then cast out the one he had hurt... the power to draw tears from one\'s eyes...... the pure, dark pleasure of it ensnared him. After all these years.



Voldemort\'s laughter was mirthless and joyless. "And is he attached to you?"



"Somewhat," Snape said with disinterest in his voice. "The attachment will grow with time, I presume."



Voldemort\'s voice was that of a gasp of ecstasy. “Of course, the pre-existent attachment that he had towards you makes it even more... delicious. Such brilliant irony. If only he knew the truth about you, and the reason he craves your touch, even before the bond is fully formed. If he only knew the kind of monster you are, and the role you had played in his life, he would rather rip his heart out than permit it feel any affection for you."



Snape laughed at the words, but without bitterness or resentment. The laughter was sincere this time. Voldemort was right - to the extent that even the Dark Lord himself did not realize. In fact, no-one, in the entire world, could ever guess the full horror of the actions of the one called Severus Snape. Not Voldemort, not Dumbledore, not Hermione Granger, and certainly not Harry Potter.



"Well then," Snape said with cold irony in his voice. "It is rather fortunate that I have no intention of disclosing my sordid past to him. The slave-bond binds him to me, not me to him."



The Dark Lord stepped out of the dusk, and the dark figure loomed over Snape.



"You could have given in to his attraction years ago,” Voldemort said softly. “You could have been kind to him... he would have thrown himself at you – at the mere age of twelve and thirteen. You could have taken him years ago. He would have told no-one.”



“Yes,” Snape agreed easily.



“But your cruelty and disdain for him kept him at bay,” Voldemort said with vicious gentleness. “How you despise his attraction to you... how you loathe him for it.”



“It\'s a despicable frailty,” Snape said darkly. “His weakness, and his undoing.”



“And my salvation,” Voldemort whispered intimately. “Go now. We will speak again soon.”



x X x



On his return home, Snape walked through the door unsteadily. His own mind rebelled against him.



Traitor! Abomination! Filth! the inner voice screamed.



The inner voice sounded like Dumbledore, like Voldemort, and like Snape himself. Slowly and with great difficulty, Snape started making his way to his bedroom, using walls for support. His disorientation increased. His mind was turning in on itself, consuming itself.



Not worthy to be alive. The inner voice spoke more softly now, and almost gently, each tender whisper stabbing through his entire being. How can you live like this? How can you keep this up?



"Same as always," Snape muttered under his breath. "My way."



Ah, and look how well your way is working out for you, the voice pitied him. You are damn near death... but death is too good for you.



"Death," Snape whispered dreamily. No word ever sounded so beautiful to his ear, as that word, just now.



You will suffer, for as long as you live, the voice told him. And afterwards, for eternity. And longer. You are damned.



"Don\'t care," Snape hissed defiantly. He slammed his fist against the wall, hard, again and again. blood smeared on the rough stone surface. "Don\'t care about that. Not in the least.”



He stumbled into the bedroom, and cast a locking spell on the door. Then he moved to lie on the bed, but his body betrayed him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed on the floor. His head struck against the hard surface. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw dark blood collecting on the floor. He smiled disdainfully. No matter. He\'d been through this before. This was only marginally worse than the last few times. He would be fine, come morning.